Sweetheart
by SouthSideStory
Summary: Ben Solo has just turned fifteen when his uncle adopts a brat of a girl named Rey. She's thirteen, with bitten off nails, scabby knees, and chestnut hair that she wears pulled up into three messy buns. She carries a pilot doll wherever she goes, and she's just scrawny enough for it to be concerning.
1. Sweetheart

**Author's Notes:** This is by far the darkest thing I've ever written, so consider yourself warned! With this story I really wanted to explore the ways in which survivors of sexual abuse sometimes perpetuate dysfunctional behaviors in their interpersonal relationships. Normally I wouldn't ask this, but because this story has a lot of personal significance for me and reflects the struggles I've gone through as an abuse survivor myself, I must ask that you be gentle in your responses to this fic. Also, there will be a sequel chapter, Scar Tissue. While Sweetheart is about the damage that survivors experience, the story that follows it will focus on the recovery process.

As always, thank you so much Next to Something for your help with strengthening this story!

 **Warnings:** childhood sexual abuse, rape/non-con, and cousin incest

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 **PART ONE**

 **Sweetheart**

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Ben Solo is almost fifteen when his uncle adopts a brat of a girl named Rey. She's thirteen-and-a-half (and won't let him forget the half) with bitten off nails, scabby knees, and chestnut hair that she wears pulled up into three buns. Rey carries a pilot doll wherever she goes, a toy too juvenile for a kid her age, and she's scrawny enough for it to be concerning.

Uncle Luke puts beef franks on the grill while Mom sets up the mustard and hot dog buns. He and Rey sit on the porch swing, idly rocking it back and forth.

"Where'd you come from?" Ben asks, even though that's rude and he knows it.

Rey scowls at him something fierce, then says, "Well, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much, sometimes they screw and make a baby. So that's where I came from, same as everybody else."

"I've had 'the talk,' thanks," Ben says. "Not really what I meant."

Uncle Luke and his mother are too busy cooking to catch this conversation, and he figures that's probably a good thing.

"I grew up in Jakku, Arizona," Rey says. "It's a craphole, but I'm going back whenever Luke gets tired of me."

There's so much wrong with that statement that Ben doesn't know where to begin, so he only asks, "Why?"

"My family left me there—my _real_ family," Rey says. "When they come back for me, I should be there. I've already been gone too long."

Ben knows a little something about not being wanted, and he suspects that if her family was capable of or interested in finding her, they'd have done it by now.

.

.

Rey sneaks out at all hours of the day and night, sometimes to wander the neighborhood or steal things from the 7-11 at the corner of Church and Chapel, sometimes to haunt the play park or the Solo house. She seems determined to give Uncle Luke a heart attack. Or perhaps she's just trying to get him to send her back, like mail that got delivered to a wrong address.

Tonight he wakes to a pebble striking his window. Ben ignores it, but Rey jimmies the latch and climbs inside all on her own.

He covers his face with a pillow and says into it, "I've gotta be up at five-thirty, you know."

Rey crawls into his bed, rips the pillow off his face, and lies next to him. "Why so early? School doesn't start until seven."

"Mr. Snoke tutors me in English in the mornings," Ben says, and he hopes it's too dark for Rey to see how much he's blushing.

"Oh," she says. "Is that why you were held back last year?"

"Sort of." Ben got into a lot of fights in the last semester of his freshman year, and he failed both English I and World History because he's a teenager who reads like a fourth-grader. Mr. Snoke says he's not stupid, that he's actually very smart, but it's going to take a lot of hard work to get his reading rate and comprehension up to where it needs to be.

Ben isn't sure how that's ever going to happen when they only spend half their time actually working on his English, but he doesn't say this to Rey. She might be street wise for a fourteen-year-old kid, but he doubts she'd understand what happens in Mr. Snoke's office.

"You really shouldn't be in my bed," Ben whispers. "It's not appropriate."

He's a hypocrite for saying that, considering what he's been getting up to for the last few years.

Rey snorts a laugh and snuggles closer. "Why? Aren't we family?" she asks, voice liquid with sarcasm.

Ben plays with a lock of her hair and tries not to take comfort in her skinny body cuddled up against him. "Doesn't matter," he says.

"Because I've got a vagina?"

He rolls his eyes. Sometimes she's so crude for a girl her age. "Yeah."

"Like that matters much to you. Don't you like boys too?" Rey asks, casual, like this is nothing important at all.

Ben freezes, heart pounding hard in his chest. "How'd you know that?" he asks, maybe sharper than he should, because he's never told anyone this secret and had hoped it wasn't obvious.

Rey shrugs. "I dunno. You kinda look at boys the same way you look at girls."

She doesn't seem to care even a little bit about the fact that he's not straight, and that calms Ben, if only somewhat. "You can't tell anybody at school," he says. "I'd get fucking crucified for it."

"Of course I won't say anything." Rey throws her arm around his waist and buries her face against his chest. "You smell good," she whispers, and there's something soft in her voice that he can't quite place. "What kind of soap do you use?"

It's pine scented. Mr. Snoke hates it, and so Ben stubbornly keeps buying more of the shit, not that it's likely to deter his teacher. Besides, he isn't sure he wants to deter him. Sometimes Mr. Snoke hurts him, but he also tells him he's clever and beautiful, and he promises never to leave.

.

.

Dad visits for the first time in years, and he doesn't seem to know what to say whenever he and Ben are in the same room. Not that it matters; there's nothing he could say to make things right.

He has the gall to ask to stay at the house, and Mom is weak enough to let him. Ben doesn't want anything to do with his father, though, so he steals Dad's prized car and speeds around town, going 80 miles per hour in a 35, taking sharp curves so quickly that he's lucky he doesn't crash and kill himself.

What would it matter if he did? Nobody would miss him except Mr. Snoke and his mother. And maybe Rey.

He picks up a 40 from the mini-mart that doesn't card and never closes, and he drinks it while he drives. There are no cops out, not at three o'clock in the morning in a town like Greenfield. Ben circles back to his neighborhood, but he parks out of the way, finishes his beer, takes a piss in the bushes, then walks to number 1720 and knocks on Rey's window.

She lets him inside, frowning. Ben can't help but notice that she's only wearing a pair of his own boxers and a white cami he can see straight through. Rey grows prettier every day, and she's got legs for miles and pert breasts that he's been thinking of more than he should.

Fifteen isn't too young. When he was fifteen he'd already been fucking for two years.

Rey hugs him, but she quickly pulls away and asks, "Have you been drinking?"

"A little. I'm buzzed but I'm not drunk," he says, which is true enough.

She crosses her arms over her chest, like maybe she's finally noticed how sheer her top is. "Luke says your dad came home."

"I don't want to talk about that," Ben snaps. "I don't want to talk about anything."

"Then why are you here?" Rey asks.

Ben pulls her against him and kisses her without thinking much about it, because if he does he'll know it's wrong. Rey makes a startled noise that dies in the back of her throat, but she opens her mouth to him all the same. She tastes like toothpaste and sleep and needy girl, and when he cups her breast she whimpers, leans into his touch. He plucks at her nipple simply to feel it harden between his fingers. Then he slides his hand down her belly, underneath the waistband of her shorts. He waits for her to do or say something, anything, giving him permission to touch her, but Rey only trembles.

Ben kisses her jaw, bites her neck, sucks her earlobe. "I want to make you come, sweetheart. Will you let me?"

"Yeah," Rey says, her voice quiet but eager. "Okay."

He pulls her boxers down her legs, then pushes her against the wall and slides his hand between her thighs. Ben isn't completely sure how this works—he's only ever done this sort of thing with a man before—but when he finds her sex so wet and warm, he pushes a finger inside her, then another. Rey gasps and closes her eyes, starts rocking in time with his thrusting fingers.

Ben kisses her temple. "How does it feel?"

"It hurts, a little, but it's still good," she says, breathless. "So good—oh God, Ben."

He keeps at it until she's shaking like a leaf, clutching at him for support, and he has to cover her mouth with his free hand when she comes, muffling the sound of her moans with his palm.

When it's over, he wipes his wet fingers on his pants and looks at her, really looks. She's still wearing her see-through cami, his own boxers twisted around her knees, hair messy and tangled. Ben picks her up bridal style, carries her to the bed, and drops her there without ceremony.

"Can I touch you?" Rey asks, even as she's reaching for his belt.

"No," Ben says, and he catches her wrists, squeezes hard enough to make her pull out of his grasp.

"But I want to make you feel good too," Rey whispers.

He pushes up her shirt and bows his head to suck on a pretty pink nipple. That shuts her up, at least for now.

He makes Rey come twice more before the night is through, once with his fingers and again with his mouth. Then Ben kisses her goodbye and climbs out of her window as the sun rises, still refusing to think about the gravity of what he's done.

.

.

He avoids Rey for three solid days, ignoring her texts and calls, and trying (unsuccessfully) to forget the taste of her. His phone buzzes again, and Ben weakens enough to read her message: _i miss you pls don't shut me out_

He turns off his phone and sleeps away the afternoon.

Ben wakes to find Rey climbing into his bed and straddling his lap. She's wearing a white bikini top and a pair of tiny denim shorts, and his cock hardens at the sight of her, barely dressed and sitting on him. She must be able to feel it too, and she blushes when he grabs her hips and pulls her against him. The friction is so damn sweet, and he can't help but buck up against her.

She grabs his shoulders, steadying herself. "I'm not here for that," Rey says, but he's certain she's lying. What else would she want with him?

"Right," Ben says, as flips her onto her back.

"You haven't been answering my calls," Rey accuses.

"And?" Ben asks.

She whines his name when he unbuttons her shorts and drags them down her legs, saying, "Touch me. Fuck, please touch me, Ben."

 _Of course_ , he thinks, but he still pulls at the ties holding her bikini bottom on.

"You sure?" Ben asks, half-wishing that she'll change her mind. He wants Rey to be different, to need more from him than this, but she's nodding and he's too weak not to give her what she's asking for.

Ben strips her out of her swimsuit and thrusts into her with two fingers, more roughly than he had three nights ago. He thinks maybe it hurts her some, because she winces, but Rey still likes it if the way she's squirming and panting means anything.

"I've gotta fuck you. Now," Ben says, sounding so broken that he barely knows his own voice.

"Please," Rey whimpers.

She takes off her bikini top and spreads her legs wider, welcoming him. He pushes down his boxers, presses himself to her sex, and shudders at the warmth of her against him.

"Are you on the pill?" Ben asks.

"You're kidding, right? I couldn't ask Luke for that," Rey says. "Have you got a condom?"

No, he doesn't, because he's never used any kind of protection before. Ben cusses and slams his fist against the headboard. The last thing he needs is to knock up his fifteen-year-old sort-of-cousin, but it's hard to remember the risks when she's lying beneath him, so beautiful and wet and ready.

"I'll pull out," he promises. "Okay?"

"All right," Rey says, and then he's pushing into her.

She goes rigid, fingernails digging into his back, plump lower lip caught between her teeth. When he thrusts, sliding his full length inside of her, Rey whimpers, "Wait."

Ben freezes, cock throbbing between her legs. She's crying a little bit—but she feels so good, her slick heat wrapped around him, like nothing he's ever felt before—

"Sweetheart," he says, and she clutches at him. "D'you need me to stop?"

Rey wipes at her flushed face. "No. I want to keep going."

Ben tries to be careful, but all of his self-control seems to have gone out the window. He can't stand to have her any way but fast and hard, and after a few rough thrusts Rey starts making high, breathy noises, rocking with him.

"Don't stop, don't stop—" she cries, but he can't wait for her.

Ben pulls out at the last moment and comes on Rey's belly like he promised.

She isn't crying anymore, but she's still trembling, and he sees small smears of pink between her legs and on himself, and Ben feels sick. This isn't what he wanted for her. She deserves better than _him_.

Still, Rey tugs him down to claim his mouth, and he's so hungry, so desperate for her, that it's a sloppy mess of a kiss.

"I love you," she whispers against his lips. "I love you so much, Ben—"

He kisses her quiet because he doesn't want to think about the last time he heard those words, only a week ago—how he was on his knees with Mr. Snoke's hands gripping his hair, pulling so hard it stung—

Ben wrenches away from her, trying to push the memory down, but it's too late. He feels his stomach turn and his cock start to harden again, the confusing double grip of nausea and desire taking hold of him at once.

"You should go," he says.

Rey stares at him dumbly, still naked and bleeding on his bed.

Ben grabs a towel from his bathroom, wipes up the mess on her stomach, and throws it in his dirty laundry. Then he gathers up her clothes and tosses them to her.

"You can't just kick me out," she says, her voice painfully small.

Maybe if he's enough of a bastard to her now she won't want him again.

"Go home, Rey."

She cries as she dresses, then hurries from his room as quickly as her long legs will carry her.

.

.

Rey doesn't talk to him all summer, and Ben has never felt more alone. He keeps to his room, reading until his head hurts, listening to music, and texting Mr. Snoke. Sometimes he wishes his mother would confiscate his phone and find all the messages that he stupidly refuses to delete, but she's too busy with work to much care about who he's talking to.

He finally has his own car now, so he drives to Mr. Snoke's house and spends a day in bed being used. He's taller than Mr. Snoke now, if only by an inch or so, but he still feels small and helpless under his hands. It's good, and it's horrible, and when his lover is finished with him Ben goes back home and takes the hottest shower he can stand.

Poe invites him to a party the very next day, and he only goes because he expects that Rey was invited too. Sure enough, he sees her sitting under an oak tree, sipping something from a red plastic cup. She looks so beautiful with her hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a yellow sundress and golden sandals. Ben drinks his own Natty Light straight from the can and watches her.

When she sees him looking, Rey frowns. Then she turns to the boy next to her and whispers something in his ear. The kid is about her own age, fifteen or sixteen, a skinny basketball player whose mother is the president of the Greenfield High School PTA. Until this moment he'd never registered as remotely important on Ben's radar, and he can't recall the boy's name.

Rey kisses him, aggressive and open-mouthed. So blatantly on display to catch Ben's attention that he strides across the field, pulls her off of the boy, yanks her to her feet, and says, "I think it's time you went home."

He's making a scene, and their classmates are staring at them, but Ben doesn't care. Let them talk.

Rey tries to rip her arm away from him, but his grip is too firm for her to escape. He half drags her to his car and says, "Get in."

"I don't need a ride," Rey says. "Finn brought me."

"I don't give a shit. Get in the car."

Rey glares at him, but then she opens the door and settles into the passenger seat.

Ben gets in, ignores his seatbelt, and starts the car. He drives more carefully than usual, though, because Rey is with him.

"You're such an asshole," she says, after they've been riding in silence for five full minutes. "I'm not your fucking girlfriend. I can kiss whoever I like."

"You only did that to make me angry," he says, "so don't pretend this reaction isn't exactly what you wanted."

He reaches over and grasps her thigh, keeping his left hand on the wheel and most of his attention on the road.

Rey squirms, and as soon as caresses her warm, sun-browned skin she asks, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing unless you ask for it," Ben says.

Rey squeezes her thighs together, catching his hand between them, and says, "I won't beg. You can't make me."

Except he can, and he does. All it takes is saying the right things, telling Rey exactly how he's going to fuck her, to have her pleading with him to touch her again. So Ben reaches under her dress and rubs her over her underwear, drawing wounded sounds from Rey, so perfect that he could live forever and never forget them.

Yesterday he was used in every way he knows, but that's nothing compared to how he feels when Rey shivers under his touch and moans his name. He works her hard and fast, fingers moving in confident circles until she goes rigid and shouts a wordless cry. Ben misses their next turn, too distracted to even halt at the stop sign, so he pulls the car over to the side of the road and shuts off the engine. He gets out, strides around to the passenger side, and hauls Rey out of the car. She lets him open the back door and push her face-down against the seat, rucking up her pretty yellow sundress around her hips.

She's wearing lacy underwear, and Ben shivers at the sight. He rips the fancy panties off of her and stuffs them in his pocket. Unbuckles his belt, pushes his jeans down his hips, and says, "You knew this would happen."

"I hoped so," Rey admits, and then he's lying with his chest flush against her back, his cock pressing between her legs.

She whines when he pushes inside of her, and it must not hurt anymore because her strained noise is one of pleasure. Ben says, "You belong to me, Rey. Nobody else. You understand?"

She's so much smaller than him. He's never noticed it more than right now with her slim body trapped beneath him. Ben rolls his hips and thrusts deeper, harder, making her cry out and grab at the upholstered interior of the back seat, scrambling for purchase.

"Say it," he orders.

"I'm yours," Rey moans. "Just yours."

His climax hits him so suddenly that he doesn't have time to pull out, and he bites her shoulder to muffle his cry as he comes inside of her.

Afterward, he drives her back to their neighborhood. Rey's hair is falling down from that cute little ponytail, her dress is wrinkled, there's a mark blooming on her shoulder, and she's holding her legs together funny—probably to keep his come from dripping down her thighs. She looks freshly fucked, and Ben can only pray that Uncle Luke isn't home on this particular Saturday night.

When he pulls into her driveway, Rey practically runs from his car, dashing inside before he has a chance to say anything to her.

It doesn't matter, though. He never has the right words when he needs them anyway.

.

.

School starts back in the middle of August, right before his birthday, and Mr. Snoke gifts him with a key to his house. Ben dutifully pockets it, promising to come by the next night at seven o'clock.

Except when Friday evening rolls around he finds himself on his bedroom floor with Rey straddling his hips.

"My mom's in the next room," he says lamely, trying to think up some excuse to get rid of her.

"So?" Rey grinds against him in a way that's almost too good to bear.

"I'm sorry," he says, almost stuttering at the delicious feel of her pressed against him. "I have plans."

"With who?" Rey asks, and suddenly she's looking at him with open jealousy and suspicion.

"Friends," Ben says.

"Are you fucking someone else?" she asks.

"No," he says. "Never."

Ben swallows down guilt, doing his damnedest to keep his expression sincere while he lies through his teeth.

Rey doesn't look like she believes him.

His phone vibrates, and Ben grabs it, his heart in his throat.

 _It's 7:15_. _Where are you?_

He types out a quick reply, saying he's not going to be able to make it tonight after all. He sets his phone aside, but it buzzes three times in quick succession and Rey snatches it up before he can.

"Who's texting you so much?" she asks.

Ben lunges for his phone, but Rey scrambles away from him, quickly skimming his new messages.

"'I gave you a key and you're not even going to use it? That's not acceptable. If you don't show up you'll pay for it,'" she reads, and Ben's stomach twists as Rey voices Mr. Snoke's threat. "What the fuck? Who's this S person?"

"None of your business," Ben mumbles, and he rips the phone out of her hands. At least she hadn't scrolled up and gotten a look at yesterday's messages.

"Why do you have someone's key?" Rey asks, her voice rising higher, turning almost shrill.

"I don't have time for this," Ben says.

Mr. Snoke is going to 'make him pay' if he doesn't show up, and that's more important than Rey and the house of cards that's collapsing around him.

Ben grabs his wallet and keys, then hurries into the hall.

Rey goes after him, shouting, "Don't you run away from me, Ben Solo!"

Mom looks around the kitchen corner and asks, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine." Ben shoots a pointed look at Rey. "I'm headed out, though."

"Be back by midnight," Mom reminds him.

"Yeah, sure," he says.

Rey follows him outside, and before he can reach his car she shoves him against the brick wall and kisses him. Her mouth is needy and possessive on his, her hands wandering to his belt. It's barely even dark yet, and anyone passing by could see them, but Ben doesn't stop her when she cups him through his jeans.

"You belong to me," Rey whispers, mirroring his words back at him.

He nods to appease her, and himself, but he knows it's not true. If he's anybody's property he's Mr. Snoke's.

.

.

Ben spends most of his junior year sneaking around with his adopted cousin and his middle-aged English teacher. He's been playing this game for so long that the subterfuge barely bothers him anymore, but he hates lying to Rey.

She's too smart not to know he's fucking someone else, and she still lets him between her legs.

Tonight, when he refuses to take off his shirt, Rey rips it open, and buttons go flying across the hardwood floor. She breathes in sharply, then traces the bite mark on his shoulder. It's a vicious thing, a rich purple bruise tinged with blue. Even her gentle touch hurts his tender skin, and he hisses, pulling away.

"Is that from S?" she asks quietly. "You can tell me if it is."

"I'm not talking about it," Ben says.

"If you don't want to discuss your cheating, maybe don't come back to me with love bites and scratches next time, yeah?" Perhaps she's trying to sound lofty, but Rey only manages to come off envious and bitter.

"If it mattered that much to you, you'd quit fucking me," he says.

Rey kisses his forehead, a gesture that would be chaste if not for the way she's rubbing herself against his lap. "It matters, but I love you too much to stop."

Ben hates hearing that, but at least with Rey he doesn't have to fear punishment when he doesn't say it in return.

He flips her onto her back and kisses her. Ben only ever gets to be on top when he's with Rey, so he likes to take advantage of the opportunity.

They're still not using real protection, and considering the number of slip ups they've had in the last year, it's a miracle that she hasn't gotten pregnant. Ben can't quite make himself regret this, not when it feels so good to be inside her with nothing between them.

The regret comes in May, when Rey approaches him at his locker and whispers, "I'm late."

Ben shrugs. "We've got five minutes till fourth block starts."

She looks at him like he's a complete idiot. "Not late for class. My period is late."

He freezes, forgets his own locker combination, and asks, "How late?"

"Almost two weeks," Rey says. "What if I'm pregnant? What are we gonna do?"

"I've got a little money saved up," Ben whispers, because Poe and his circle of friends are walking by. "I don't know if it'd be enough to…"

"To get rid of it?" Rey asks quietly, staring at the tiled floor beneath her feet. "So that's what you'd want to do?"

"What I want doesn't really matter," Ben says. "It's your body that'd have to go through it either way."

"Will you take me to the pharmacy after school?" she asks.

"Of course," Ben says.

He doesn't know how he sits through Mr. Bressinger's final exam, and he doubts he scrapes better than a C anyway. After the bell rings, Rey meets him in the parking lot, and he drives her to Walgreens. He hangs back while she purchases the pregnancy test, but he can see that the pharmacist—a busybody old woman named June—calls her by name and says, "Dear, whatever do you need one of these for?" To make sure that anyone within earshot knows Rey is buying something she shouldn't. She blushes a furious red, pays for the test, and hurries out of the pharmacy.

A quarter hour later, he's waiting outside his own bathroom, watching the clock. "It's been five minutes," Ben says, too impatient and nervous to keep quiet any longer. "What are the results?"

Rey opens the door and throws her arms around him. "I'm not pregnant!"

Ben picks her up and spins her around, relieved and more than a little giddy. Then he kisses her, a quick peck on the lips that soon grows into something hungrier and more heated. He drops her on the bed and starts undressing.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rey asks, laughing.

"Celebrating," Ben says, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so widely. "Isn't that obvious?"

"Not without a condom," she says, but her eyes are lingering on the breadth of his shoulders. "Haven't you learned anything from this?"

Ben finishes stripping, then climbs up on the bed, on top of her. "We'll use one next time," he promises.

.

.

 _Are you alone?_

Ben ignores the message for fifteen minutes, but then Mr. Snoke texts again: _Answer me._

He hesitates, because his mother is spending the night out of town, and Rey is at a concert with Finn and Poe. He's as alone as he's ever like to be, but he knows what's going to happen if he answers honestly. Ben doesn't want Mr. Snoke in his house. He's managed to keep this one space clean of that man's influence, his bed empty of the terrible things he makes him do.

But it's been two weeks since he was with Rey. She had a busy summer, always running around with her friends, and now that school has started back she's only more distracted. He's lonely and aching in the absence of her touch.

So he answers the message and waits for the doorbell to ring.

He lets Mr. Snoke into his house twenty minutes later. The summer treated him kindly, leaving him lean and tan, and he looks less tired than he did last semester.

They don't make it to his bedroom. Mr. Snoke pushes him against the living room wall and kisses him. He unbuckles Ben's belt, pushes his jeans and boxers down around his knees, and takes his cock in hand.

"Fuck," Ben hisses, closing his eyes, because he doesn't want to watch, doesn't want to see himself bucking into this man's hands, desperate and out of control.

Mr. Snoke says, "That's good, sweetheart."

Hearing that pet name reminds him of the first time they ever did this, when he was thirteen and terrified, bent over a desk, with his teacher whispering it in his ear. But it also makes him think of Rey. He couldn't count how often he's called her that since he snuck into her room, buzzed off of cheap beer, and fingered her until she came.

He wishes it was Rey touching him now, her hand instead of Mr. Snoke's pumping him closer to climax.

Then he hears it, the soft noise of her sob. He knows it's Rey, because how many times has he made her cry over the years? That sound is imprinted on his heart.

Ben makes himself look over Mr. Snoke's shoulder, and sure enough, there she stands, her pretty face wet with tears, twisted in disgust. Rey looks at him for a long moment, and then she turns around and bolts out of the house. He pushes his teacher away and scrambles to pull up his pants and buckle his belt. Mr. Snoke cusses, but Ben pushes past him, shouting Rey's name.

He follows her back to her home, and it doesn't matter that she locked him out because he knows that Uncle Luke's spare key is hidden under a brick on the porch.

He finds Rey curled up in her bed, crying harder than he's ever seen her cry before.

"Rey," he says, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm—"

She cringes away from him. "Don't touch me."

Ben holds up his hands, and now he's sobbing too, crying like he hasn't done in years. "Rey, please let me explain."

She sits up and glares at him. "Fine. Talk. Explain why you'd rather be with a man old enough to be your father than with me."

There's so much he could say. That it isn't a matter of choice and never has been. That he loves her back, but the thought of saying those words out loud to anyone besides Mr. Snoke frightens and sickens him. But he can't bring himself to admit these things, so instead he kisses her. Rey fights it, shoves at his chest and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Are you crazy?" she asks. "I don't want you to kiss me after what I just saw. What's wrong with you?"

Ben shrinks away, wanting to run, wanting to hide. He sees it now, what should have been obvious from the beginning: he's no good for Rey. He's done nothing but use and dirty her, the way Mr. Snoke used and dirtied him.

.

.

His teacher must send him fifty messages over the weekend, but Ben deletes every one of them.

On Sunday night, he writes a note to his mother and packs a suitcase. He's almost ready to sneak out the door when his window opens.

Rey climbs in, the way she's been doing for years. "Where are you going?"

"Not sure yet," Ben says, too ashamed to meet her eyes. "Somewhere far from here."

"Are you coming back?" she asks.

"No, sweetheart," he says, before he can bite back the endearment.

It would be best to go now. If he lingers he might not find the strength to leave at all.

He turns toward the door, but then he feels Rey's hand on his arm. "You're not going to kiss me goodbye?" she asks.

Ben stops, suddenly rigid with need. "You want me to?"

"I always want you to kiss me," she whispers.

Ben drops his luggage, pulls her against him, and bows low enough to press his lips to hers. It's a soft, sweet, fleeting thing, maybe the most innocent kiss he's ever given Rey.

When it's over, she clutches his shirt and says, "You know I'll love you for the rest of my life, right?"

This would be the moment to say it back, his last chance, but Ben can't see how the truth would bring her anything but more pain. So instead he lets her go and says, "Thank you, Rey."

"For what?" she asks.

He doesn't answer.

Later, on the road, Ben opens the window and lets the summer breeze inside his car. He plays his music too loud and sings along with the radio. In the lull between songs he hears his phone buzzing, demanding attention. He can guess who it is, of course, without even looking, and he knows Mr. Snoke's messages will only keep coming, dragging him back home if he lets them.

Ben throws his phone out the open window.

He's still not sure where he's headed, but it has to be better than staying in Greenfield. He could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything.

He smiles as he crosses the county line, because for the first time since he was a thirteen-year-old child, Ben can see his choices.

.

.


	2. Scar Tissue

**PART TWO**

 **Scar Tissue**

.

.

Ben sits in Dr. Crawford's office, perched on the edge of an uncomfortable couch, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. This is his third therapy session, and still he hasn't been able to bring himself to say anything.

This was stupid. A waste of money. What could some psychologist do for him that he can't do for himself?

"What brings you here?" Dr. Crawford asks.

Ben shrugs. "My life's fucked up."

He's a high school dropout who never bothered to get his GED, pushing thirty with nothing much to show for it. His only long-term relationships have been with his English teacher and his own cousin. He drinks too much and drives too fast and has a DUI on his record to show for it.

"I need to go," Ben says, even though there's twenty minutes left of this session, and he knows he'll get charged for the full hour regardless. "I don't think I'll be back."

Dr. Crawford frowns, but he shakes his hand and says, "I'd be happy to help you, Ben. Whenever you're ready."

"Yeah, sure."

He walks out of the office and doesn't look back.

.

.

His phone rings at four o'clock in the morning. The woman beside him stirs, complains about the noise, and covers her head with a pillow. An unknown number flashes across the screen, and Ben is about to swipe the button that will shut off the shrill ringtone when he notices the area code. Someone from Greenfield is calling him. Someone from _home_.

"Hello?" he asks.

There's a beat of silence on the other end, and then: "Ben?"

He gets out of bed, naked, and paces the bedroom. It's been so long since he heard Rey's voice, but he recognizes it immediately. He'd know her anywhere, even across ten years and five hundred miles.

"Yeah, it's me," he says.

The last time he saw her they were stupid half-children playing at adulthood, and he can't help but remember what she said to him the night he left Greenfield: _You know I'll love you for the rest of my life, right?_

He wonders if she hates him now. If she's grown up enough to realize how badly he'd treated her, how he took advantage of her just to steal some comfort for himself.

A choked sound comes across the line, then Rey says, "You need to come home, Ben."

"I can't do that." It makes his skin itch, just thinking about Greenfield, the site of his worst mistakes and his greatest fears. And Mr. Snoke could still live there.

"It's your mom," Rey says. "She's sick. She didn't want me to find you and tell you, but I thought you deserved to know, and Dad agreed."

He realizes, a little distantly, that she finally thinks of Luke as her father now, but that's the least of his concerns. "Is she dying?"

"It's cancer. The doctors tell us she's got about three months," Rey says softly. "I'm sorry, Ben."

He punches the brick wall, startling the woman in the bed, then hisses as he shakes his fist, the air stinging his torn knuckles. The pain grounds him, keeps him steady and clear-headed when he's on the verge of screaming.

"Are you still there?" Rey asks.

Ben takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to prepare to speak, to say what needs to be said. "Tell Mom I'll see her soon."

.

.

It's a nine hour drive from Chicago to Greenfield, but Ben makes it in eight. He crosses the Derrickson County line at midnight, windows down and music up, returning the same way he left.

He speeds by McMillan Road, the street that leads straight to Mr. Snoke's house. It's been a decade since he saw the place, but he remembers exactly what it looks like and precisely how to get there. Ben grips the steering wheel harder and keeps driving.

His old neighborhood has barely changed, all identical, suburban, middle-class houses separated by close cropped lawns. Despite the hour, the porch light is still on at his own house—a little worse for the wear than the neighbors'—and he sees her sitting on the stoop, bathed in its lambent orange glow.

Rey stands as he pulls into the driveway. Ben parks, gets out of his car, and walks over to her, his heart in his throat. She's wearing faded blue jeans with a hole in the left knee and a grey t-shirt that might have once been black. Her hair is a little shorter than she kept it when they were teenagers, falling in messy waves to just above her shoulders. She was a lovely girl who has grown into a beautiful woman, and Ben finds that he can't quite speak.

He's spent so many years convincing himself that he didn't miss her, didn't need her, and now he wonders how he ever pulled off such an impressive feat of self-deception. Because now that he's standing before Rey, overcome with a fullness of feeling, Ben realizes how empty he's felt for the last ten years. Alone in every room he entered, no matter how many people kept him company, simply because _she_ wasn't there.

"Hey, cousin," Rey says, and her smile is soft, gentle, familiar. It's the first time she's ever called him that without sarcasm lacing her words, and maybe it should make him uncomfortable, given their history, but Ben is just happy that she's looking at him like family instead of like the man who abandoned her.

Rey throws her arms around him, buries her face in his chest, and whispers, "I missed you."

Ben hugs her back, kisses the top of her head, and takes in the herbal scent of her hair. That full feeling in his chest expands, his heart brimming with fast-flowing blood, a deeply held breath burning his lungs.

"You got even bigger," she says, and he can hear the laughter edging into her voice.

"Maybe you just got smaller."

He knows he shouldn't push, but she's here in his arms, her warmth and smell so overwhelming. Beautiful, perfect, familiar; more home than this house he stands before. Ben's skin feels on fire everywhere they touch, his whole body thrumming with bright energy, and he's missed her so much that it's impossible to resist kissing her temple, her cheek—

Rey wriggles out of his grasp, and he lets go of her—even though breaking contact hurts, a physical pain he can feel all over, aching in the meat of his muscles, shocking every nerve ending with lightning-quick force and precision. She shifts awkwardly, no longer smiling.

"I'm sorry—" he starts, but she holds up a hand.

"It's all right, just don't do it again, okay?" Rey says.

Ben grabs at his hair, tries to calm his harsh breathing and hide how shaken he is. He's been back in Greenfield for fifteen minutes, and he's already acting like the stupid boy he used to be. It shouldn't surprise him, though. Rey always has brought out his selfishness.

"Is Mom awake?" he asks, and just voicing the question sobers him. As overcome as he is by Rey's presence, she isn't the reason he's here. His mother is sick, dying, a situation so unacceptable that he's barely allowed himself to think about it since Rey called him this morning. How could Leia Organa, the strongest woman he's ever met, succumb to something as lowly and hateful as cancer? This news has been stewing in the back of his mind all day, but it still seems unreal.

Rey shakes her head. "No. She went to sleep a couple of hours ago. Her meds knock her out pretty good, so she probably won't be up until six or six-thirty. Do you want help with your stuff?"

"I only brought one suitcase," Ben says. He pops the trunk and grabs his luggage.

She's frowning now. "Are you not staying long?"

"I have no idea," he says, "but this is all I've got to my name anyway."

Rey leads him inside, and he finds that his old house looks much the same as it did when he left. Some of the walls have been painted, a few pieces of older furniture replaced, but otherwise it's very much the home he grew up in.

"Well, I'm headed to bed," Rey says. "See you in the morning."

"Wait—you live here now?" Ben asks.

"Oh, yeah, I do. Ever since Aunt Leia needed someone to take care of her," Rey says quickly. "So for about a year now."

"You didn't think this was something I might've wanted to know?" Ben asks.

Rey crosses her arms over her chest. "Would it have affected your decision to stay here?"

"No, but—"

"Then I don't see how it should much matter to you," she says.

Ben strides over to her and crowds her against the hallway wall. "It matters because I fucked you right here during a Fourth of July party. You do remember that, don't you?"

"No," she says, but she's blushing and breathing more sharply, and he knows she's lying.

"Everybody else was outside watching the fireworks," he says. "You were wearing that ridiculous little white bikini you used to run around in. The bottoms ended up tangled around your ankles after I got on my knees. Your legs almost gave out when you—"

"Shut up!" Rey hisses. "I remember, all right? Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because it seems like you want to forget it ever happened," Ben says.

Rey glares up at him. "I do! I wish we'd never done it. Carrying on with you was the worst mistake of my life. I've regretted it every day since you left."

Ben braces his arms on either side of her, so that she's trapped between him and the wall. "I hate to hear that screwing me was such a hardship."

Rey pushes him out of her space. "Are you even sorry at all for what you did to me? I was fifteen when you climbed into my window and kissed me and—and called me _sweetheart_ —" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. "I said yes, but I didn't understand what it was going to mean, what it was going to do to us. But you knew, you knew exactly how it would ruin me, and you fucked me anyway."

It's all true, everything she's saying, and Ben knows he can't deny any of it, as much as he wishes he could.

She's crying when she says, "You knew I was in love with you, that I'd have done anything to make you happy. Even let you use me."

"Rey—"

"Don't," she says. "I'm done. This is the last we're going to talk about it, and tomorrow, for your mother's sake, we're going to pretend we're happy to see each other. That there's nothing between us that shouldn't be there."

She leaves him standing alone in the hallway with nothing but his guilt for company.

.

.

Ben lies in his old bed, remembering all the nights Rey snuck into his room and let him touch her, kiss her, hold her. The best memories of his young life turned out to be her worst, and that hurts more than he's willing to reflect on.

He can't stop thinking of that Fourth of July party, the way Rey clutched his hair, how she moaned his name and almost slid down the wall when she came.

He wonders whether Mr. Snoke thinks back fondly on all the times he used him.

Ben doesn't sleep. So he gets up at five-thirty and makes breakfast. He's no chef, and he hasn't had his own kitchen for awhile, but he remembers his mother teaching him how to cook French toast when he was twelve, the summer his father left, so that's what he makes.

Rey wanders in around quarter to six, her short hair a mess, still dressed in sleep clothes—a pair of blue boxers and a white cami. She wore something strikingly similar so many years ago, when he climbed into her window at three in the morning and made her come for the first time. But surely she isn't trying to push his buttons with that, not after last night's confrontation.

She leans against the wall, and he can't keep himself from looking her up and down. "You grew into your legs," he says.

Rey smirks. "You grew into your ears."

Ben focuses on not burning the bacon so he won't stare at her. "Not really. I just keep my hair longer now."

"It suits you," Rey says.

He squeezes the skin of his torn knuckles between his fingers, savoring the small spike of pain. "I'm sorry about last night," Ben says. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. I didn't have any right."

She nods but won't look at him, and he goes back to cooking.

When the food is ready, Rey prepares a tray for his mom, sprinkling powdered sugar over the French toast.

"Do you want to take this to her?" Rey asks. "She might not want much of it—her appetite's been off lately, even though she's not on the chemo anymore—but I'm sure she'd love to see you."

Ben shakes his head. "No, you take it. I'll talk to her later, after she's had a chance to wake up."

Really, he's just not ready to see his mother, and Rey probably knows that. She takes the tray, and while she's gone, he eats his own breakfast, fixes a plate for Rey—drowning the toast in maple syrup, just the way she likes—and washes the dishes.

She comes back with a tray that looks nearly untouched. "She liked it," Rey says quickly. "But it's hard to get her to eat a lot lately."

"My feelings aren't hurt," Ben says. "Yours is on the table."

He watches her scarf her breakfast, like she expects her food to run away if she doesn't eat fast enough. It's all gone in about three minutes, and then Rey looks at him and asks, "Are you living out of your car?"

She always has been a forward little thing. "Right now I'm living here."

"But before that. Did you have anywhere to stay?" Rey asks.

Ben shrugs. He hasn't had a place to call his own in almost a year. Maybe if he'd saved his money instead of blowing it on booze and three useless, silent sessions of therapy, he could have put down a deposit and first month's rent on some shitty apartment.

Rey sits on the counter while he washes the dishes, her long legs dangling, bare feet brushing the cabinets. "Dad's bringing over Chinese takeout for lunch," she says. "You still like sesame chicken?"

"Yeah." It's probably not any of his business, but he asks, "When did you start calling Uncle Luke 'Dad'?"

"Since I graduated high school. The summer before I started college I went back to Arizona, but it didn't take long to figure out that there wasn't anything for me in Jakku. The family I'd been wanting for so long was right under my nose, but I'd just been too stubborn to recognize it." Rey looks down at the hardwood floor and says, quieter, "It helped that you'd left. When you were here I didn't want to be Luke's daughter, because if I was really your cousin that made what we were doing so much worse."

Ben turns off the water and dries his hands on a dish towel. "Where'd you go to college?" he asks.

"Vanderbilt," she says. "I majored in Electrical Engineering. Graduated magna cum laude too."

"That doesn't surprise me a bit," he says, grinning.

"I got a job designing security systems after I finished up at Vandy, but I left it when Aunt Leia got so sick." Rey hops off the counter and asks, "What about you? What have you been doing for the last ten years?"

Ben pushes her shoulder playfully. "Nothing as fancy as you. I drove trucks for a while, waited tables. Last year I pulled a stint as a welder. Didn't work out though."

She frowns. "Why not?"

He runs a hand through his hair and reminds himself that it doesn't matter if Rey is disappointed in him. "I showed up drunk."

"Oh." She opens her mouth, then shuts it, like she wants to ask something but thinks better of it.

Ben can guess what her question is. "I'm not drinking anymore, so you don't have to worry about me getting wasted, okay?"

He can't quite meet her eyes, because he knows what a mess he must look like: a drunk with no home and no career who can't get his life together.

.

.

Ben isn't sure what he was expecting. It isn't like he thought ten years and cancer would be kind to anyone, but he's surprised by how frail his mother looks. She'd been so strong when Ben saw her last. Vibrant, full-figured, sharp-eyed. Mom's keen gaze never seemed to miss anything, except for the secrets that Ben most wished she'd see.

Now she's skinny and white-haired, diminished, the cancer eating up every bit of her, not just her time.

Then his mother smiles at him, and suddenly she looks so much like herself. "Ben. You came home."

He sits on the edge of her bed, cradles her hand in his own. "Yeah, Mama. I'm here."

She shakes her head, her smile softer now. "Rey is in big trouble for calling you."

"She should've done it sooner," Ben says. It's taking all of his self-control to stay calm. Not to cry, not to break everything in this room.

"I know it was selfish," Mom whispers, "but I wasn't sure if you'd come. And if you wouldn't—I didn't really want to find out."

Ben takes a long, bracing breath. He can't break down. He doesn't deserve to, not when his mother is dry-eyed, stoic as ever. "Of course I came. I told you in my note that it wasn't your fault, remember? I had to leave, but it didn't have anything to do with you."

His mom frowns, and she grasps his hand harder. Still weak, compared to her old grip, but it's something.

"I didn't know the reason why you left. I didn't even see it coming," she says. "And that means I wasn't the kind of mother I should've been."

"Mom…"

She coughs, a rough, rattling sound that sends a tremor of fear through Ben's whole body.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Mom waves her hand, shooing him while she coughs and coughs, her pale face flushing a splotchy red. Then it stops, her breathing calms, and she takes a sip from the water glass she keeps by her bedside.

"Can you get Rey?" she asks.

Ben wants to say that, whatever she needs, he can take care of it. But that's only his pride talking, and his mother's comfort is more important than guilt or jealousy.

He leans forward, kisses his mom's smooth, papery cheek, and says, "Sure. I'll get her now."

.

.

Lunch with Rey and Uncle Luke might be the most awkward meal of his life. Rey keeps glancing between Ben and her father, then stuffing more crab rangoon into her mouth. Uncle Luke is even worse because all he wants to talk about is Ben's time away from Greenfield. His questions are quiet, kind, and polite, but he's talking like Ben has only been on a very long vacation.

It's pure hell to watch Rey and Uncle Luke chatting, laughing, smiling together, the very picture of a happy father and daughter. They're a real family now. Ben is happy for Rey, that she's finally learned to trust her heart with someone who will care for it, but it also hurts. He never had this with his father, and rarely with Mom.

There's a sick twist in his gut at the sight of Rey fitting into his family so well. Disgust with himself, found ten years too late.

"'Scuse me," Ben says. "I'm gonna crash for a bit. Didn't sleep so great last night."

Uncle Luke nods. "You've had a rough couple of days. Get all the rest you can."

Rey's eyes are trained on a point slightly above his shoulder when she whispers, "Sleep well, Ben."

He doesn't sleep well. He doesn't sleep at all.

.

.

A nurse visits every other day to take his mom's vitals, make sure she's comfortable, and confer with Rey about details like medication doses and adjusting a bathing schedule. Ben doesn't know how to incorporate himself into these conversations or if he even should. Rey has been caring for his mother for more than a year now. She knows what she's doing, she has a good rapport with the hospice nurses, and Mom is more comfortable with her.

Ben still tries to earn his keep. Rey has somehow managed to keep the inside of the house clean while tending to his mother's care around the clock, but the exterior is a different story. The grass needs cutting, Mom's prized garden is an overgrown mess, the gutter is barely hanging on, and the siding has faded from white to a dingy grey. So he sets to mowing, weeding, fixing, planting, painting. It's dirty work, but more honest than half the jobs he's held since he left Greenfield, and he can lose himself in the physicality of it. When the afternoon sun beats down on his back, or his knees ache from bending over wild flowerbeds for hours, it's easier for Ben to leave hard realities inside his house.

On his fourth day of gardening, he finds Rey sitting on the porch swing with a bottle of sunscreen and a glass of iced tea. Her gaze flickers over his chest, lingering at the waistband of his shorts, but then she tosses the bottle to him and says, "Put this on. You look like a lobster."

Ben follows her order, laughing. The sunscreen smells like coconut and summer days. He remembers a family trip to the wave pool, two weeks after Rey came to live with Uncle Luke. She was still quiet and rude, stubbornly isolating herself. But she shared soggy bologna sandwiches with Mom, ate the snowcone Uncle Luke bought for her, and let Ben teach her how to swim. It was the first day that she'd looked at any of them like she might not mind belonging to their odd little family.

He finishes smoothing sunscreen across his body: face, arms, chest, stomach. It's a shitty thing to do, but he purposely skips over his half-burned back and waits to see if Rey notices.

She sets her iced tea aside, strides over to him, and snatches the bottle away from him. A moment later he can feel her hands swiping sunscreen down his spine, across his shoulders. Rey keeps her touch light, quick, almost clinical.

"I'm not an idiot," she says. "You don't fool me a bit."

When Rey is done, she shoves the bottle at him and says, "Use that every day if you don't want melanoma in twenty years. We take cancer very seriously in this house."

She keeps her face so straight that it takes Ben a moment to realize she's joking.

Rey looks him over again, something tender coloring her gaze for a moment before she hurries back inside, and heat spreads across Ben's cheeks and chest, heat that has nothing to do with his sunburn.

.

.

It takes Ben three weeks to work up the courage to drive down McMillan Road. Some of the houses have been remodeled, but its quiet suburban air remains the same. And the mailbox at number 717 still carries peeling gold letters that spell _Nathaniel J. Snoke_.

He isn't going to knock on Mr. Snoke's door. Just driving by has twisted Ben's gut into Gordian knots. But he needed to know. He couldn't go on wondering if Mr. Snoke had stayed in Greenfield, if he still lived three miles away.

Ben speeds home, parks his car so crookedly on the curb that it's probably going to piss off the neighbors, and rushes inside, straight to the bathroom. He plays music with the volume cranked all the way up and takes a scalding shower. The hot water hurts on his burned skin, because he hasn't been using sunscreen as often as Rey would like, but it's a good hurt. The kind that pushes him back into his body when it feels like he might drift right out of it.

The calm doesn't last, though. Halfway through washing his back he remembers—

The glass walls of Mr. Snoke's shower, cold under his palms as he braced himself against it, music playing so loud on the speakers. Loud enough to drown out the sounds of the shower and the sounds of—

Ben turns off the water, even though he's still half-covered in soap. His arms and legs lock up, so rigid that he can barely get himself to the floor. He sits, frozen, dripping water onto the green tile, with an empty feeling in his gut, hollowing out his limbs and his heart and his head until he doesn't think or feel anything. All he is now is a body, an old-little-boy-body with nothing inside.

.

.

July bleeds into August, August into September, then October, and still his mother keeps fighting. Of course she's outliving her doctors' most generous predictions. He shouldn't have expected any less from a survivor like Leia Organa, and he's never been more thankful for anything.

.

.

Ben has been sitting on the floor, struggling through the same _Tennessean_ article for twenty minutes. He's not much better at reading now than he was as a teenager, but at least he's realized how pointless all those hours of tutoring really were. He's probably dyslexic, not stupid, which is good to know, even if it doesn't do a damn thing to improve his sad, spotty resume.

"We're taking a break," Rey says.

Ben closes the magazine and looks up at her. "A break from what?"

Rey sits on the floor across from him. "This house. My dad's coming over to keep an eye on your mom so that we can get out of here for a few hours."

Ben chews his lip, biting hard enough to be on the right side of painful—

Rey reaches over and brushes his mouth, her fingers gentle, so light he can barely feel her touch. "Stop that. Stop hurting yourself."

Her voice shakes, and so does her hand. It takes everything in Ben not to kiss her fingers, not to nibble at their tips and lick, suck. Make her wet enough that she's compelled to reach between her legs and—

Ben pulls away, his heartbeat high in his throat. "What did you have in mind?"

Rey's hand still lingers in the air, and her gaze is soft, lost. Then she shakes her head, snatches her hand back to her side, and says, "Sorry?"

Ben pulls up one knee and leans over it, blocking Rey's view of his lap. Not exactly subtle, but better than leaving his half-hard dick visible.

"For our break from life," he says. "Where do you want to go?"

Rey ducks her head and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "All right, don't shoot me down before I can explain, but I want to go to our high school."

"Why the fuck would you want to go back there?" Ben asks. "You know what I—who I was—"

Rey reaches for his hand, but he pulls it away before they can touch. Then she looks at him with such tenderness that it stills his anger, and says, "It's being torn down soon. A lot of old students have been vandalizing the shit out of it, and I thought… I don't know, maybe it's stupid, but I thought it might do you good to bust a few windows."

Ben wraps his arms around his knees, feeling suddenly young and small again. But he says, "All right. That's not a bad idea."

.

.

The school is dark, abandoned, defaced with spray painted profanity and worse. Half the windows have already been broken, but there's debris laying around the parking lot and enough windows intact for him to work on. He picks up a brick, weighs it in his hand, and finds the most fragile-looking window. All it takes is one good throw, and the old glass shatters.

"It's almost a shame," Ben says. "Our grandparents went to this school."

Rey hands him a fresh brick, and they walk around the building together, looking for another likely target.

He breaks four windows and cracks three more, and strangely, it _does_ help soothe the anger that's been searing through him ever since he came home. The tangibility of it is satisfying. That he's taking some part of this horrible place in his hands, making it his, and destroying as much of it as he can.

"I need to go inside alone," Ben says. "Will you wait for me?"

Rey nods. "Of course."

It only takes him a few minutes to find the English classroom. Nothing ever happened here; Mr. Snoke reserved all their fucking for private lessons, usually at his home. But he remembers getting papers full of red marks, then being held after class under the guise of stern lectures only for Mr. Snoke to tell him what he was going to do to him the next day. Ben is thankful for the graffiti and overturned desks, because it keeps him from slipping away into the past, into all the awful things that were promised to him on this very spot.

He stays there for a long time, staring at the empty whiteboard, trying to find some kind of blank slate within himself.

Then he hears Rey calling his name, and a moment later she's standing behind him. "I know you asked to be alone, but you were gone for awhile. I was worried that—"

"I'm fine," Ben says. "Let's go."

Rey leads the way, but she's taking them on the scenic route. He can't figure out why she's cutting through the freshman hall when they could just go out the way they came. There's no exit back here except through the gym. It's harder to see here, but the high, narrow windows cast moonlight across the battered basketball court—and then Ben knows why she brought him this way.

"Do you remember…" Her voice trails off into the dust-hushed darkness of the room.

Ben makes himself breathe. "I remember."

They snuck in here just a couple of weeks before he left. Ben paid off the custodian for one of his extra keys, and they spent all night making out, fucking and laughing and jumping at every noise, certain someone was going to come along and catch them messing around on the half-court line.

Rey walks ahead, hurrying toward the door, but Ben outstrides her and blocks her way. They don't say anything, but the air between them feels suddenly charged with past mistakes and present possibilities.

Rey unzips her hoodie, drops it to the floor, and pulls her shirt over her head. Her nipples are peaked beneath her sports bra and she's shivering all over. A pretty picture, so nervous and wanting, asking to be _his_ again.

Ben grabs her, pulls her against his chest, and he knows his grip is too tight, but Rey only stands up on the tips of her toes and starts kissing his jaw, his cheek, saying, "God, I missed you, I needed you, I still need you—"

They kiss, and it's like they're teenagers again, mouths hungry and wet on each other's as they pull at their clothes. Yanking, ripping, stealing kisses. They clamber to the floor, ungraceful and undressed, and Rey pulls him on top of her, wraps her legs around his waist.

"You want this?" Ben asks.

She grabs his hair and drags him back down for another kiss, a messy meeting of tongues with little grace and no patience. Then she whispers against his lips, "Do you hear me saying no?"

Ben buries his face against her neck and swallows the sob that's trying to climb out of him.

"Please, Ben." She bites his ear and rocks up against his cock, rubbing her slick sex against the blunt tip of him, and says, "It's been so long. Please, just fuck me."

Ben pulls away, disentangles their bodies, and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't have a condom."

Rey snorts. "You never cared about that before."

"Well I do now."

She sits up on her elbows and glares at him. "Make an exception. I'm on the pill; it'll be fine."

"I can't. I—" He bites the inside of his cheek, makes himself say the rest. "I don't even know if I'm clean."

He's had a half-dozen partners in as many months, and with the men he wasn't always as careful as he should've been. He doesn't like to think about why it's harder to get off with men, especially when he tops, or there are condoms involved, or his partners don't talk him through it. He doesn't like to think about it because he already knows why.

"Then go down on me," Rey says. She spreads her legs, and he wishes it wasn't so dark, so he could see all of her.

Ben gets on his belly, hooks her thighs over his shoulders, and goes straight to her sex. He remembers exactly how she likes this, because he's done it the same way on every woman he's been with since (even when his partners didn't care for the method). Heavy, languorous licks, from her lips to her clit, over and over, until she's squirming and begging for more. Then shorter, faster flicks of his tongue, right where she needs it. He tastes nothing but her, breathes in nothing but her, and it's perfect, it's exactly what he's been craving.

Ben could do this all night, work Rey to pleasure until his body gives out. He'll never get enough of her, never, not now or tomorrow or in a hundred years. She's panting, grabbing at his hair, her hips arching up off the floor. She's close, so close—

Rey pushes him away, and Ben scrambles backward, wiping his hand across his sticky mouth.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you—"

Rey shakes her head, sits up on her elbows, and says, "I need you in me. I don't care about the rest."

It's a terrible, impulsive, stupid idea. He could hurt her, just for the sake of a good fuck.

But she asked for it. It's what she wants.

Ben gets on his knees and pulls Rey's legs over his shoulders. He watches her face as he pushes into her, carefully, gently, their bodies coming together with more tenderness than he ever spared her before. She whimpers, her mouth closed tight as a secret, tears glossing her eyes. Rey rocks against him, bucking up hard and fast, but Ben holds her hip, holds her still while he gives her nothing but slow, deep thrusts. It feels good, so good, even better than before, and God, he hadn't thought that was possible.

Rey shakes her head, and her voice is frantic when she says, "I can't—I can't take it gentle. It never…" She makes a wounded noise and tilts her head back, eyes closed. "It never works."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm—" Ben closes his eyes, and all he can see is Rey spread underneath him on this same floor ten years ago, shouting his name while he took her so hard that she cried. That was the last she had of him, a night full of rough fucking, being used because it was the only way he knew how to love.

Rey pulls away, flips onto her stomach, and stretches her arms above her head. She looks over her shoulder at him and says, "It's all I want."

So he gives it to her. It tears at him, but he fucks her as brutally as he used to. Rey moans, saying _please_ and _harder, faster_ and _oh God, Ben_ until he feels her sex tighten around him, fluttering through her climax. Ben doesn't pull out quite fast enough, and he spills from between her legs to her back.

He makes himself look at her. At the mess of his come, wet on her skin. At the way she shakes, cries, and curls up on her side. But worst and best of all is the expression on her face: worn out, soft, and blissful.

"Thank you," she says, without looking at him. "I needed that."

.

.

They don't talk while they dress. They cover themselves in torn, wrinkled clothes, leave through the gym exit, and make their way toward home without exchanging one word.

.

.

It's a beautiful night, crisp but not cold, and Ben can smell the hot, sweet scent of tobacco being burned somewhere nearby. It takes him back to fall nights with Rey, going on hayrides, through haunted houses, to bonfire parties. Eating blackened marshmallows and later, drinking cheap beer out of red cups.

He tries to think about autumns of the past to keep from facing this one, what they just did tonight, but it doesn't work very well.

The walk is long and quiet, thick with what's going unsaid. When they round the corner to their subdivision, Ben can't take the silence stretching between them any further, and he asks, "Did you plan this?"

Rey elbows him gently. "If I'd thought there was any chance of us having sex tonight I would've bought some condoms."

Ben can't remember if the last time he was tested had been around New Year's or before that. He thinks of Rey, his Rey, catching something from him, something he picked up from any of the nameless one-night stands he's had since then, and his skin crawls.

"I'll make a doctor's appointment tomorrow," Ben says. "Just to be sure there's nothing to worry about."

Rey shrugs in a way that's half a head-shake and half a nod. "If I get an STD it's more my fault than yours. I insisted."

Which was stupid, but no more so than agreeing.

Ben knows what he should ask, but it's the hardest question he's ever faced, so he waits until they're almost to the house to say, "Did you always…" He clenches his fists, feels his nails digging into his skin, but it doesn't steady him. He has to ask. He has to.

Rey stops him, takes his face between her hands, and makes him him look down at her. "Did I what?" she asks.

Ben gasps, and realizes when the air tastes so sweet that he'd been holding his breath. He leans into Rey's hand, turns toward her touch and lets his mouth soften against her palm. She tastes like their sweat, their sex, and he wants to kiss her clean.

She's so beautiful, so good, and he can't—

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Ben says.

Rey lets go of his face only to wrap her arms around his neck. She leans back, as if waiting for a kiss, but then she says, "You did. You hurt me, but…" Her gaze steadies, fixes on him with a compassion he can't escape. "I still loved you."

"I loved you too," Ben says, and he hopes it isn't a surprise, that even though he never admitted the truth, Rey understood somehow.

She hugs him with all her strength, like she's trying to make him small enough to protect. "I know."

The porch light comes on, and Luke steps outside right as they spring apart. God, somehow he didn't think of this when he ripped her jeans, when he sucked a ruddy mark high on her throat. Through this long walk home, Ben didn't consider that Rey looks as hard-fucked as she is, with her tangled hair and wobbly legs, and he probably doesn't look much better.

Luke glances between them, scowls at Rey, and says, "I'm going home now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," Rey says weakly.

As soon as they're inside, Ben points toward Luke's house and whispers, "What was that?"

Rey holds her hands out wide, bites her lip, then says, "He knows."

"Obviously." Ben paces the living room, keeping his steps light, his voice low; his mother doesn't deserve to lose rest over his mistakes. He tries not to sound accusatory when he asks, "Did you tell him?"

"No, I didn't tell." Rey stands straighter. "After you left, I was a mess. I cried all day and wouldn't go to school and got into fights. It wasn't too hard for a father to figure out that we'd been—that the two of us were more to each other than we were supposed to be."

Ben walks over to her, close enough that he can get a good look at the love-bite that darkens her throat. He wants to kiss it, softer now, to cover that violent mark with something gentle, but that isn't what Rey wants from him. The only thing he gave her was pleasure and pain, and now she has to have both to have pleasure at all.

He needs to ask. It's going to eat him alive if he doesn't hear it out loud. "Did you always want it? Back then, when we had sex, did you want it?"

Rey looks up at him, her eyes wide, bright, shocked. "Yes," she says. "Every time. I wanted it—wanted _you_ —every time. I promise."

He hadn't known for sure, and now that he does it's such a relief that he cries. Ben wipes at his tears before they've really fallen, so fucking thankful that at least he hadn't done to Rey what had been done to him.

She takes his face between her hands, makes him look down at her, and says, "You're not like that man. Do you hear me, Ben Solo? You're not like him, not one bit."

The relief leeches away as quickly as it had come. Rey shouldn't be comforting him. He doesn't deserve it, and it isn't her job to make him feel better about how badly he'd treated her.

"I used you," he says. "I used you and lied to you and made you hide all the ways you were being hurt. That makes me a lot like him."

Rey flinches, her touch trembling on his cheeks. "Yeah, you treated me like trash and you broke my heart, but you didn't—you didn't—"

Ben jerks away. "Don't say it."

"Okay," Rey whispers, that one word so carefully offered that it radiates pity.

Ben walks away from her without saying goodnight.

.

.

In the morning, Ben sits with his mother. She's only sleeping—she sleeps so much these days—but it's comforting just to be by her side. Her slow, rattling breaths soothe him somehow, because it means she's still alive. For as long as Mom is here, there's at least one person who loves him unconditionally, one person who thinks of him as a good man; maybe it's selfish, but he needs her to live, for her faith in him as much as anything else.

When dawn light creeps through the window, Ben tucks the white blanket around his mother more firmly, smooths her hair away from her face, and presses the lightest kiss to her forehead.

"Stay," he whispers. "Please."

She sleeps on, and he's glad. She deserves the rest.

He finds Rey at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, taking careful sips from a mug of steaming tea. Ben makes himself some coffee and drinks it at the counter.

She turns a page and says, "I still don't know how you drink that stuff."

"Necessity," Ben says. He watches her, waiting for something more personal, more important, but Rey doesn't give him anything.

.

.

There is an ugly, four-letter word that Ben has never been able to say. He has to speak it out loud, has to give it its due, but he can't.

.

.

His mother stops eating and drinking two days before Thanksgiving. "I'm not thirsty," she says, when Ben brings her a glass of water. "I'm not hungry," she says, no matter what kind of food they try to tempt her with. No, she isn't sick to her stomach. No, nothing hurts any more than usual. She's fine just like this.

When one of the hospice nurses comes—Karen, he thinks—she sits them down and explains in a gentle, careful way that this is normal. Sometimes, in their last few weeks or days, people will stop needing much to eat or drink. It's common once they've slipped into active dying. Active, like there's been anything _passive_ about this nightmare at all.

"What can we do?" Ben asks.

Karen smiles, a kindness in the middle of this cruel news. "You're already doing what she asked for. Leia made it very clear that she only wanted minimal measures at this point. Only pain management."

"How much…" Rey clears her throat, working out the catch in it. "How much time does she have?"

"It's difficult to say, but based on what I saw of your mother today, she could be here for a week or two, possibly."

Rey puts her head in her hands, and Ben sits, frozen, feeling not quite in his body as Karen asks if they need anything else. No, they don't, so she packs up her equipment, checks on Mom one last time, and leaves.

When Rey starts to cry, Ben gets up, grabs his keys from the kitchen counter, and goes outside. There's blood rushing to his ears, a low pulsing rhythm that blocks out everything and nothing.

The screen door slams behind him before he's halfway to his car, and then Rey grabs him by the arm, saying, "Ben! Don't—don't go. Please don't go—"

He pulls her into a hug, and it's a fucking miracle, because she clings to him as fiercely as he's clinging to her. "I'm not leaving," he whispers into her hair. "I just can't be here right now."

Rey only holds onto him tighter, burying her face against his shoulder. "What if you get in your car and you decide to keep going? What if you just—what if you—"

She's pulling at the back of his shirt, sobbing against his neck, a mess of wet tears and sharp teeth when she bites at his collarbone. He should stop her, or at least care; it's broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon in a neighborhood full of busybodies.

Ben drags her around to the back of the house. Loses himself in the bite of November wind, the warmth of her hands on him, the sound of Rey's ragged breathing when she pushes him against the brick wall. Then she kisses him, her mouth open on a wet sigh, lips as soft as her love. He can taste apple cider, heady and autumn spiced, on her tongue.

She grabs at his belt, and the clack of the buckle finally jerks him back to himself. Ben catches her hands, shaking his head. "We shouldn't do this."

She wipes at her damp nose and tear-streaked cheeks, gaze fixed on the brown grass between their feet. Ben can't look at anything except for her, can't see anything besides how beautiful she is. Her lips are candy apple red, kiss-swollen, still wet and parted.

Ben shakes his head. "I can't keep hurting you."

Rey grabs him by the chin, squeezes until his mouth opens, and leans up to bite at his lower lip. She's rough about it, as hard with him as he used to be with her, all teeth and potent, possessive anger. Then she says, on the last breath of their kiss, "It hurts either way, Ben. At least let it be the hurt with something good in it."

He sobs, but he's telling her _okay, okay, please_. He's weak, he's so pitifully weak.

It starts thundering while they kiss, then raining, the droplets cold against his cheeks while Rey gets on her knees for him on the muddy, lifeless ground.

.

.

Thanksgiving is a wreck, but less so than Ben remembers—probably because his mother is too tired to boss everyone around—but he only wants to hide in his room. Mom only has days left, and even though she's taken the news in stride, unsurprised and calm about it, Ben can't stop panicking. He jerks awake from short naps crying, or hyperventilates in the middle of raking leaves, thinking about everything he's done wrong, all that's happened to him and all that's yet to come.

It doesn't help that Rey keeps touching him. Friendly, soothing touches, nothing sexual about them, but he's too attuned to everything about her not to notice the yearning glances she sends his way when she thinks he isn't looking. He catches her at it all the time, because he's always looking. Any chance he gets, he's looking at her.

It's just the four of them, Ben and his mother, Rey and Luke. Rey is a hopeless cook, Ben is no better, and Mom is too sick to help, so that leaves his uncle to do most of the work on his own. Ben deigns to chop vegetables and wash dishes while Rey takes care of Mom. They work mostly in silence. Luke has been cool toward him since the night he and Rey spent at the school.

"It already smells really good," Ben says, just to cut through the quiet between them.

"Yep."

Ben washes dishes. At least the rush of water will hush their silence.

Luke checks on the turkey, then turns to Ben, fixing that calm, careful gaze on him that's somehow more unsettling than anger.

"I'd hoped that time away would help you," Luke says. "That you could heal from whatever happened, and you'd treat Rey the way you should when you got back."

Ben can't move. His heart is in his throat and there's scalding water running over his hands, but he's frozen. Unmoving, just like he was the first time Mr. Snoke fucked him—and the second, and the third, and the fourth. It took awhile for him to like it.

It hadn't taken him nearly as long to make Rey like it. To enjoy being roughly handled and called sweetheart _._

"Ben?"

Uncle Luke. He's in the kitchen with Uncle Luke, and the sink is almost overflowing, his hands submerged in hot, soapy water. Ben slaps the handle down, off, and yanks the plug out to drain the excess water.

He wants to be sick. He wants to disappear. He's a pestilence that should be snuffed out. Ben grips the edge of the sink, shaking instead of frozen.

Luke's stare is more worried than angry now, and Ben wants to tell him not to spare any compassion for him.

Luke turns back to the stove, checks on the potatoes, and says, "I don't need much more help in here. Why don't you check on your mom?"

Ben hurries back to the living room, back to his mother and the love in her smile. When he kisses her cheek, she says, "I'm so glad you're home, Ben. So glad you came back."

.

.

Rey comes to him in the middle of the night, and Ben almost sends her away when he sees that she's only wearing a large, white t-shirt. One of his, he thinks, worn thin from ten years of washings and foldings.

She climbs into bed with him, but she only holds him close. No kissing, no touching beyond a gentle hug. She makes herself the big spoon, wrapping him up in the protection of her body. But he can smell her freshly-washed hair, the clean green scent of it. He can feel her trembling warmth and the rhythm of her heart beating against his back, quick as a prey creature's.

He's getting hard, and he wants to fuck her, wants to kiss her, wants to make love.

"You deserve better than me," he says. "You deserve someone who'll treat you right."

Rey lets go of him, and he feels her weight shifting on the bed. She's back to back with him now, but her voice is clear, if quiet, when she says, "In college, I had a boyfriend, Josh. We were together for three years, and he was the kindest guy I've ever known. The sort that opens doors for everyone, not just women. He didn't even try to kiss me until our third date."

Ben doesn't want to be happy that Josh isn't around anymore, but he is. As much as he'd like to, he can't squash the feeling that Rey belongs to him.

"What happened?"

"He was good. Nice, thoughtful, honest. And he was always careful with me in bed." Rey's breathing shivers, breaks. "He treated me like I was made of glass, and God, I fucking hated it. I'd make grocery lists in my head while we had sex, or touch myself like I wanted him to touch me, just trying to feel something, but it didn't help. The only thing that ever helped was—sometimes he'd call me sweetheart. Then I could get off."

Ben turns over, pulls her into his arms, and drowns his groan against her shoulder. "Rey," he says. "God, I wish—"

He can feel her chest shaking, hear the dampness in her voice. "Me too," she says. "Me too."

Rey lets him cradle her close for the rest of the night.

.

.

In the morning, Mom asks, "Will you tell me why you left?"

He can't tell her the full truth. She'll just blame herself if she knows about Mr. Snoke. But he can't lie either, so he takes the middle ground and says, "It was because of Rey. I was in love with her, and it wasn't good for either of us."

Mom gives him the smallest of gentle smiles. "I wondered. I didn't want to think it, but I wondered."

Ben nods. "Well your instincts were good."

Mom reaches out, takes his hand, and says, "I understand, Ben. I know what it's like to want someone you're no good for. That doesn't mean it isn't love."

Ben kisses her knuckles, and she smiles at him again.

"I'm going to miss you," she says.

He holds her hand tighter, too tight. "I'm gonna miss you too, Mama."

.

.

He waits for the good day that Karen tells him might be coming. Sometimes dying people get one last wind of energy before they go. It doesn't mean they're healing, it doesn't mean they'll live. All it is, truly, is one good day. A little, inexplicable gift, a final burst of life when death is right around the corner.

So Ben waits for his mother's good day, but it never comes.

.

.

Mr. Snoke once told him that journaling could siphon off some of his pain. Pour it onto a page to get it out of himself. He writes his way through to the funeral, but he can't really tell if it helps. Not that he should be following that man's advice anyway.

Rey comes to his bed every night, and all they do is sleep. Tangled together, or back to back, sometimes trading places as the big and little spoons. They share comfort but no more, and Ben is thankful that for once he can touch her in innocence.

.

.

Christmas is hell, and New Year's is worse. Mom always liked to make silly resolutions, promises to eat lobster at least once a month or to show Ben's naked baby pictures to someone new. As a teenager he thought her resolutions were lame. Now he still thinks so but in a longing way. He wishes he could be exasperated with her, that he could have that privilege again.

Rey makes a point to drag him out of the house every week. Today she takes him to a hipster coffee shop and says, "I'm getting you a fancy drink. I recommend the chai, but knowing you, you'll probably go with something highly caffeinated."

He gets an Americano with a double shot and hopes that it will push him from a low day into a decent one. He's barely eating and barely sleeping but can't make himself get out of bed. Sometimes he feels like he can keep his hands off of Rey, then he wants to fuck her so badly that it hurts.

"How are you feeling?" Rey asks.

Ben takes a long drink of his coffee, picking at a peeling sticker on the table. It's a gold star, the kind of reward his tests rarely received.

"You don't have to keep asking me that," he says. "It's not your responsibility to take care of me."

Rey sets down her tea and reaches over to calm his restless hands with her own. "I don't feel obligated, you idiot. I care about you."

"Care." Ben leans closer, thankful that he's tall enough to close so much space over the width of this table. He could kiss her if she leaned forward. "Is that it?"

"Don't you remember what I told you?" She looks down at their clasped hands, then back up at him. "I'll love you for the rest of my life."

Asking was selfish, but he doesn't regret it.

.

.

It's a long winter, and a longer spring, until the oscillating weather gives way to steady heat. Ben stays in Greenfield, doing odd jobs here and there. He mows lawns on the weekend, picks up stage-handing in Nashville, works construction wherever he can find it. Hard labor that uses the strength of his body, that doesn't require him to provide a high school diploma he doesn't have. Ben has never hated the work itself, only the sense of failure that eats at him when someone asks what he does for a living.

On a hot morning in June, Rey asks, "Do you want to get your GED?"

Ben stops in the middle of eating pancakes. It's a good day, so he only laughs and says, "Don't need it. So what do you want to do today?"

Rey went back to designing security systems a few months ago, but it's Saturday, and for once they have a day off at the same time.

She shrugs. "We could go to a movie. Or maybe the park."

Rey sounds nonchalant, but he knows her suggestion isn't, because they had sex all over that park when they were teenagers. Under the bleachers, in the woods around the nature trail, even in the backseat of his car, parked in plain view of anyone who might pass by.

She's been doing this lately. Dropping not-so-subtle hints that she wants him to fuck her, but never acting on it herself. He thinks, maybe, that she's waiting for him to push her against a wall or bend her over a table, to take the first step. If so, then she'll be waiting forever.

"A movie," Ben says. "That sounds good."

.

.

Rey wears a bikini while she waters the flowers. It isn't new. Ben would know that white swimsuit anywhere, and he wonders why in God's name she kept it.

He hides in his room for an hour, until curiosity drives him out, only to find Rey lying on the floor on her stomach, a quilt underneath her, watching TV. She's flipping between the news and a fencing match, but all Ben can look at is the long expanse of her back. Her bare, brown back, because the bikini top lies discarded on the floor beside her. She doesn't look over her shoulder, doesn't say one word to acknowledge him, but her thighs part, just a little.

And that's it, he can't stand anymore of this, whatever it is. "If you want me, just say so."

Rey turns over, sits up, and wraps her arms across her chest. "Please," she says. "Please, Ben."

In less than a minute she's naked in his lap, and Ben is sitting up, kissing her, having her.

"You never let me—on top before," she says.

He sucks at her throat, licks the spotted bruise that's left behind, and asks, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah." She rocks down on him faster, digging her nails into his shoulders. "Not as much, though."

Ben turns Rey onto her back, but he doesn't give her the hard fucking she wants. Instead, he moves slowly, steady and deep, and squeezes her thighs with enough strength to leave red, five-pointed marks. It takes time, patience, and a little pain, but he gets her to the verge of coming. Ben calls her sweetheart, and it sends her over the edge faster than he's ever seen.

.

.

He goes to Mr. Snoke's house at sunset on a Wednesday evening like any other. He finds the spare key exactly where he remembers it living (under an empty flowerpot on the porch), and lets himself inside. There are comparisons he could make, because he remembers this house as well as his own, but he doesn't bother picking out the differences.

Ben finds Mr. Snoke in his office. He jumps when he hears Ben, scrambles to his feet, and asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Nathan."

Mr. Snoke stands up straight, frowning, but Ben can see the pulse jumping on his narrow neck. He's pale, skinny, gone fully grey where once he had salt and pepper hair. The last ten years have worn him down. He seems small and weak where once he was tall and strong. Or maybe Ben can just see him more clearly now than he used to.

"I heard you were in town," Mr. Snoke says. "I wondered if you'd come by."

Ben shrugs. "Don't get too excited, I'm not really visiting. Just dropping in."

Mr. Snoke looks him up and down. Ben knows he isn't thin and gangly anymore, that manhood stripped away his youthful awkwardness and left something more adult in its place. Something too grown-up for Mr. Snoke to want.

It makes him feel safer, powerful enough to step forward, even though he could vomit right here on the blue carpet that once left rug-burn on his hands and knees.

"What do you want?" Mr. Snoke asks.

He's afraid, if not as afraid as Ben used to be of him.

"Nothing," Ben says. "I just wanted to get a good look at you."

The last he sees of Mr. Snoke, he's sagging against the wall, still half-terrified. An old, ugly, cowardly thing, too pathetic to fear.

.

.

The fear hits Ben later, at home, when he crawls into bed and cries. He thinks of the boy he was before Mr. Snoke, that sad little creature who would've given anything just to feel wanted. He'd been an odd kid, lonely but whole. Not the patchwork person he is now, barely stitched together.

Ben stays up until the early hours of the morning, wondering what kind of man he would have been if he'd never met Mr. Snoke.

He wants to sleep tonight, tomorrow, for a thousand years. He wants to close his eyes and find his mother on the other side of his dreams.

"I miss you," he says, offering up his grief to the silent room. "I miss you so much."

The next day, he tells Rey that he wants to go back to therapy and actually talk this time. She helps him find someone local who takes clients without insurance, schedules an appointment for him, and says, "I'm so proud of you, Ben. It's the hardest kind of work, but it's possible to get through."

Ben wraps his arms around her waist. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because," Rey says, her smile soft and sad. "I did it."

.

.

There is an ugly, four-letter word that Ben has never been able to say: _rape_.

It takes a long, long time for him to speak it out loud, to give it its due. First to his therapist, then to himself, and finally to the boy he used to be.

.

.

"Do you think it's real, what we have?" she asks.

They're lying together outside, holding hands and looking up at the sky. It's a quiet night, cool and cloudless.

Ben squeezes her fingers, giving all the reassurance he can. "What do you mean?"

"Is it real, how we feel about each other? Or is there something, I don't know, wrong with us?"

All Ben can hear is the cadence of Rey's breathing, all he can feel is the warmth of her hand in his. Above them, the stars are larger, brighter than they should be. So close, so far away.

"I don't know if this will last, or if it even can," he says. "But I love you, and that's real. Maybe too real."

.

.

 _fin_


End file.
